It's Not Just Lust Anymore
by xLustandDrabblesx
Summary: For two people who only believed lust, love was a myth. But in the face of murder, blackmail and mistrust, can they survive? Or will it only be a game?
1. Ella, Coffee and Humour

**A/N: Dearest fans of Clue:**

**So, this is something I have been working on for a little while. It is based off the movie. I have tried to stay as true to the characters as possible. So I hope you enjoy it.**

**-Scarlet at Midnight**

* * *

_"Ours reason not to why, but to do and die."_

_"Die?"_

_"Merely quoting sir from Alfred Lord Tenison"..._

* * *

She awoke in a haze. The pressure around her waist shocked her, unable to comprehend through the early morning cloud that consumed her thoughts Correction, early afternoon. According to the watch, on the arm around her. One o'clock. Yes it was late, but due to the events that had occurred the night before, it was understandable. The fact they got any sleep at all was surprising. Her dark hair was messy, but somewhat bearable, and her hazel eyes were restless - not surprising all things considering. She unwrapped herself from the arm that held her tightly, she could not look at the face attached to figure. Not out of shame, but due to the fact that she couldn't process last night's events without some form of caffeine in her system.

She stood up at the end of the bed, her thoughts piercing and legs unstable. Wearing very little, she looked at the discarded, emerald, silk dress that she had worn last night and decided that it was inappropriate for coffee. That night- how she wished she could forget the events of that night. She betrayed her better judgement and glanced at the figure in the big, four post bed. He had turned on his side, obscuring his face from view. She couldn't help but feel relieved, also a little annoyed. She picked up his shirt from the floor, which was all but forgotten about last night - in their lust filled actions- and put it on.

Pacing down the hallway of the empty house, searching for anything that resembled a kitchen. It did not take her long, even in her clouded state, to find the room she was looking for. The next task: coffee. As it brews, her mind is filled with flashbacks from that night -Yvette strangled, Secret Passages, the shock of finding someone dead - the horror consumed her. Everything was rushing back and her head spun at the notion of it all, endless deadly memories and the sickly sweet tune repeats. She shook her head to clear it of the violent thoughts. Not that it would help, those images would haunt her for the rest of her life. She glanced over at the record player in the corner. She need to distract herself, so she walked over to the machine and picked up a record. She turned it on, as the record spun round, the smooth jazz vocals of Ella purred from the gramaphone. She hummed quietly to herself, waiting. Pouring to large cups of the inky liquid, she headed back down the hallway.

There he was, sitting in the bed, reading whatever book was placed on his stand. It didn't matter to her. He looked up as she entered the room.

"I made coffee." She smiled quietly to herself. She wondered if he would even speak to her. When they fought, it was intense. Days without speaking and then it would erupt into a passion that would break most people in two. Not those with experience at least.

Last night they had attended a dinner party, and things got a little out of hand. When they returned they fought quite aggressively, because they couldn't do anything by halves, and then resolved it. In their own little way, as always.

He removed his glasses and hopped out of the bed, walked towards her, removed the two cups from her hand and placed them on the dresser behind them. He embraced her passionately and met his mouth to hers with a great force. He tasted like cigar smoke and brandy. He held her so tightly she had no choice not to reciprocate, she met his force equally. The music continued to drift down the hallway, only adding to the intensity of the moment.

There was something about him. He made her forget everything about that night, ironically he should bring up those awful memories, but when they were like this, nothing else mattered. He was not the first man, certainly not. She was not perfect - a Madame - neither was he. The fact that they knew each other's past and still accepted the other. So alike in their flaws, whether it be adulterous, lecherous or criminal. That's is why they fought so much: to similar to ignore, to different to get along. She broke away first then so did he, reluctantly.

"Good Morning."

"Good Afternoon."

He checked his watch for a moment. "You're right."

"Why do you sound so shocked?"

"Because this is not a common occurrence." She hit him lightly, as she picked up her cup and returned to the bed. He rubbed his arm, pretending to wince in pain, with a smug sense of satisfaction. She would get him back, she always did. He slipped in next to her, innocently sipping his cup. The play of sarcasm was normal between them.

"Last night..."

"Is nothing to worry about." She cut him off a little too quickly. "Tensions were high, but we dealt with it," giving him, her mischievous smile. He moved closer to her.

"Scarlet, its okay," he began to say as he put his arm around her.

" Are you trying to comfort me? Or just trying to get at me, Plum?" She stared at him intensely. Co-dependency was not her style.

"Which one will get me in less trouble?" He stated raising an eyebrow playfully.

"Stop it. Wasn't last night enough for you?" she smirked.

"You're never enough for me."

"Don't I ever wear you out?"

"With you, I can't afford to be worn out. You might go to someone else."

"That's why I like to try to keep you worn out."

There was a brief pause. They playfully eyed each other off.

"I love you." He said earnestly.

"I humour you." She stated sarcastically.


	2. Flashbacks, Passion and UNWHO

**A/N: So I just wanted to let you know that the first chapter was a little preview. But I like this story so there will be more chapters. Reviews are appreciated. Criticism is always a great way to learn as a writer. So thanks to the few who have read the story.**

**-Scarlet at Midnight**

* * *

"Love is just a history that they may prove." - Stefani Germanotta

* * *

It had been a year since that fateful night at Hill House. Things were never quite the same. Peacock had gotten away with six counts of murder, and the other guests were supposed to go on as if it had never happened. The nightmares haunted her, and she could never listen to "She's a jolly good fellow" quite the same again. A few good things came out of that horrific night. One was an incredible alias, two was a new career path, the third and probably most shocking to her was the Professor.

* * *

_"Oh!"_

_He reattached himself to her lips. He was going to milk this for all it's worth she knew it. The stolen glances all night, the constant flirting. He was trying to get with anyone tonight, but why did it bother her so much? She didn't even know him, yet very time he looked at someone else, she could, well kill him. He moved his mouth to her neck, disrupting her train of thought; she needed to get out of the situation before she did something that people normally pay through the nose for._

_"I think they are gone." She said breathlessly, suppressing the moan growing in the back of her throat. _

_"No their not." He mumbled in between kissing and sucking on her pulse point. She heard the faint sound of a door opening; she needed to hear what was going on. Her inner turmoil screamed at her. She, reluctantly, pushed him off her and put her ear against the door. She could hear the cop and Wadsworth talking. _

_"What's going on?" he whispered in her ear, giving her a slight shock and sending shivers down her spine. But it wasn't unpleasant._

_"Shhhhhhhh." The faint sound of voices travelled. She could only pick up words of the conversation. _

_"We should go to dinner. If we make it out of here alive." She turned her back towards the door; he was standing very close to her, although it wasn't intimidating. _

_"How can you think about dinner at a time like this?" gesturing to the body in the chair._

_"Well, I think you owe me. For picking you up."_

_"Yes because if it wasn't for you, I would still be sitting in my car waiting for help, instead of running around this house looking for some homicidal maniac that could kill us all. Yes Professor, thanks for that."_

_"Okay, fine." He paused."Well then you own me for the negatives."_

_"Negatives?"_

_"In the study. The pictures of Yvette ... and The Colonel. I gave them to you, deliberately. Remember?" There was a pause between them as she thought._

_"Why did you give them back to me?" _

_"It was you or the Colonel. Easy decision. So dinner?" he smirked. _

_"How can I be so sure you're not the murderer?"_

_"Because I am not. How can I be so sure that you aren't the murderer?"_

_"You can't." Her devilish smile and the glint of mischief in her eyes got the best of him. She turned to face the door again and waited for a second. "And sure, I will go to dinner with you." _

_He pondered for a moment. "What is your name?" _

_"Vivian."_

_"Peter."_

_"Wow. I am disappointed. It's what I expected." He smirked at her comment; they listened silently for a cue to go out. _

_"Question - Why did you bring me in here as part of the distraction?" He whispered. She looked over her shoulder, with lustfulness in her eyes._

_"It was you or the Colonel. Easy decision."_

* * *

How they ended up here, she may never know. In their house just outside of Washington DC. After Yvette, she didn't have the heart to continue on with the line of work she was in. Sure she may have used Yvette for her own selfish reasons but she had grown quite fond of her. She sold the business to some European investors, for a substantial amount of money. And with that money, she wrote a book. "Confessions of a Madame" - full of dirty little secrets on everybody from movie stars to certain high ranking military officers who may still visit that little house on the corner, every now and then. She penned it under the name Miss Scarlet and it had reached No.1 on the New York Times Bestseller list. Only the six of them knew the truth behind the name. After the success of the first confession, she was writing another one. You don't work in an industry like that for 10 years and not pick up any information.

As for Plum, he was at the United Nations. Still working for U.N W.H.O. She would write, he would work, and it was their routine. His job often involved them going out to parties and dinners quite frequently. She didn't mind, she could hold a conversation with the best of them. She loved the attention she received from the males and the glares she got from their wives. He loved the fact he had something they all wanted. It was win-win.

They lived their lives as though that traumatic night had never occurred. They were all great full when she hopped in her car and drove away. They had somehow stacked the bodies in the cellar. Wadsworth did them all a favour by getting them out of there, they were all lucky that Peacock didn't call his bluff. That night had a few more surprises in store, if that was possible.

* * *

_The sound of a key clicking in lock signified the end of a long night for the five other guests and one exhausted butler. The Colonel was the first to depart, quite quickly as well. He didn't waste any time getting away from the manor. Mrs. White left next, she was more frazzled then one might expect, especially having dealt with murder before. That left Scarlet, Plum and Wadsworth._

_"Of all nights for my car to break down..." She mumbled as she leaned against the front doorway. It was too far too walk, and she just wanted to get away from there. _

_"Wanna' Lift?" She turned around to see Plum standing in the hall with a smirk on his face. She bit her bottom lip, trying to hide a smile._

_"Don't you think it is a little out of your way?" she sauntered towards him, seductively. He continued to ogle her the way he had been all night. _

_"Never." He stated innocently as he grabbed her coat from the hall and helped her put it on. He grabbed his hat and nodded a farewell to the Butler standing by the cellar door, dumbfounded, questioning the exchange he just witnessed. _

_He opened the car door for her as she slid in. He slid into the driver's seat and started the car as fast as he could. They drove away from the house without a second look. They noticed her car as he drove down that dirt road._

_"I will get it later." she shrugged it off._

_"Yourer doing well."_

_"As well as can be expected. I am just glad it's over." _

_"Do you think you will ever see them again?" he asked her. For that she had no answer. They travelled in silence for a while. Both processing the events that had taken place. _

_"So, was she the first patient you slept with?" She stated cheekily, breaking the silence. He looked at her with a face of amusement._

_"No."_

_"Really?"_

_"How's life running that hotel of yours?" He replied in a mischievous tone. _

_"Great. Thanks for asking."_

_After a tedious car ride, only made interesting by the biting banter played between them, they had made their way into Washington DC. He pulled up to her front door._

_"Thanks for the ride, Professor." she said getting out of the car._

_"Call me, Peter."_

_"Bye, Peter."_

_"Vivian." He watched her walk to the front door, she assumed only so he could look at her derrière as she walked away. When she reached the front door, a thought came to her. She walked back to the car._

_"You know, Peter, it's late. And I don't want you driving All the way out of Washington." She could see that he knew where this was heading, just by the look on his face. "Do you want to come in?" she gave him a very suggestive smirk._

_"Yes, Please."_

* * *

From that night on, they got to know each other. Not just alias, but as people. They had more in common than they would probably like to admit, but somehow it worked. He wasn't that bad, and when they were good, they were amazing. But when they were bad, well, they were very bad.


End file.
